The Jokers
by If-I-Were-A-Wolf
Summary: They're ill. Unstable. Unwell. Murderers. And so very lost. Cut off from society in an asylum for the craziest of the crazy, two patients get tangled in a burning web. Johnny/Randy Slash.
1. And So It Begins

**Oh hey, look! Ezzy's writing a new story. I promise not to put months between updates... ._.**

**This will be a story about two mentally insane patients, eventually falling for each other. I won't try and confuse my readers simply because it's a crazy fic. Some people like to make reading it confusing because the characters are insane. But I hate when it gets too confusing, so I won't try to make your brains hurt.**

**This idea really belongs to CentonObsessionJCxRKO. It's because of her that I know how to write Randy like this, so you should check her stuff out. She's a good writer and has some well rounded characters. But if you don't like this Randy, blame her. c:**

**_Warnings_: There will be voices, breakdowns, blood, and possibly rape. This story is not for the squeamish and if you have a problem with my addiction to pain and suffering, then leave. But I promise to not overkill. This could end happily, it could end in tragedy. Im not sure, you'll just have to read and wait. ;)**

**Johnny won't come until next chapter. This is introducing Randy and the setting. Sorry for the long A/N XD I promise they won't be this long from now on.**

**PS, excuse my shitty grammar.**

**Enjoy my lovelies!**

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><p>The jury's eyes laid upon Randy Orton with pity.<p>

Pity? Randy loathed the word. He was sick, they said. Whispering voices overlapped the voices of the real world. And distinguishing reality from hallucinations was a difficult task. Although... for Randy, the fine line between insane and being just _okay _had become thicker an thicker with each word that was whispered in his ill mind. The words of the voices. Of the unwell. Because yes, Randy Orton was not well. But he would not be okay. Never again would he be _just okay._

Randy would like to think he was just a little sick. But deep down, in the rational part of his lost mind, he knew. He knew he was dangerous. He was a predator. And he knew that if he could, he'd kill again. If only to make the voices stop. To have peace of mind. To have that blissful silence that everyone in the courtroom possesed in their minds. But the judge looked at Randy like he was Satan. Not an ill patient. Randy was a freak of nature.

The death penalty.

That was too sweet of a deal for Randy. Too good to be true. To put Randy to death would be the sweetest release. The thought of death intrigued Randy. To feel nothing. To sleep forever in peaceful silence

The insanity plea.

Randy Orton heard it before but he was always lucky enough to get out of the hospital early with signs of improvement. He'd been sent to anger management of course, though this was not a problem with anger. And one mental hospital, but never as horrible as where he was about to go. Of course, those signs of improvement were false. The voices never left. Randy was never sane. And this time, Randy knew for sure that he'd never see daylight again. He knew that this time, he would be locked away for good.

"I find the defendant not guilty by reason of _schizophrenia. _Therefore he will be placed in Blackcliffe Hospital for the Criminally Insane _indefinitely_," The judge said, making sure to put emphasis on the word "indefinitely".

The loud bang of the gavel made Randy flinch, and glare at the judge. If his hands and feet weren't cuffed together, he'd have ripped that man's face off. The voices in his head told him he should.

"_Ya know, I bet you could get out of these cuffs. Rip him to shreds, Randy. There's nothing wrong with us. We don't belong in an asylum. You, me, us. We're okay,_" The voices whispered to Randy.

Randy rolled his neck, clenching his fists until they turned white. He wanted it to stop. He wanted his head to be silent. But he also wanted to listen to them.

"_You like us, Randy. You love us. And we love you. We're your_ friends," They hissed gently. It was like having a snake hiss in your ear about how they're going to kill you. But they said it so sweetly, so softly, that you forgot that your life was about end in seconds. Sometimes, Randy could forget how deadly the voices could be. They lured him in, and surrounded him.

"Stop," Randy murmured to himself, to the voices, as the officers jerked him from his seat and lead him to the bus waiting outside to take him to the asylum.

"Don't tell us what to do, crazy bastard," The officer growled at Randy, and jabbed him in the ribs.

Randy winced then growled, trying to punch the fucker in the face. But his cuffs prevented it. This made the officers laugh, which in turn made the voices grow in size and volume.

"_You're pathetic. You let him touch you like that. Pathetic, worthless, nothing..." _They whispered to Randy. He shook his head.

"Make it stop! Make it fucking stop!" He screamed as the officers strapped Randy's hands to the seat so he couldn't scratch himself anymore. But the pain made everything quiet.

Made it so so quiet... Randy liked quiet.

Randy looked up into the eyes of the officer. "Make them stop..." He pleaded in a whisper.

The officer looked down at Randy then looked away. Looking into the eyes of the criminally insane was the most scariest thing in the world. They looked at you like they knew everything, yet nothing at all. It seemed that the crazy... knew more than the supposedly sane.

_They'll stop eventually... _Randy thought to himself. It was a false reassurance.

Randy looked out the window as the bus moved. The city rushed past him in streaks and blurs. He pulled against his restraints, the metal scratching his wrists. Randy rested his head against the window, and saw dark shadows creep out of the trees. They smiled at him.

"_They're not real,_" A voice whispered to him.

"None of you are real," Randy scoffed quietly, getting a headache.

"_Real enough for you._" It murmured.

Randy sighed and closed his eyes, trying to rest. It was a long ride to his awaiting hell.

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><p>Bruised, ill and cold. Clothes ripped off. Examined like a pet. Slamming doors and screams echoed in his ears. His eyes were ice cold and his lips were dry. Randy felt like a caged animal.<p>

He felt goose bumps up his tattooed arms. After taking off the shackles, and tearing off his clothes, they shoved him into a shower to clean him off before they dressed him and put him in his room. Honestly, Randy was surprised they had any type of health code in this place. Randy wrapped his arms tight around himself, cold water running over his body as two male nurses cleaned him.

Randy was a private man but there was nothing he could do right now. He winced, the brushes they were using scratching his skin, leaving red marks. Randy was tired, and knew what would happen if he bashed the nurses' face in. He also knew that they would never let Randy shower alone, for the doctors probably feared Randy would try to harm himself. This place gave him chills. And he had a pretty good idea of what they did to misbehaving patients here. The screams told him.

He hissed lowly when they touched his modesty. Probably on purpose, just to spook the larger man. They pushed him out of the shower, hastily drying him off putting him into clothes that barely kept him warm. It was a thin, long sleaved shirt and long pants. But they looked tattered. At lease they didn't have blood stains on them.

The nurses led him to his new room. Randy was a big man, even though he felt 3 feet tall with the way the doctors and nurses looked at him. Disgust from the doctors. Pity from the nurses. Randy didn't meet any patients yet. And for that, Randy was thankful.

They nudged him into the tiny room. It felt more like a cell than anything, because of the bars on the windows which let in nearly no light. There was no candels, let alone a lamp. There was nothing sharp, and nothing that could be used for self harm. The room itself was much too small. Especially for a man Randy's size. The room was an estimated 9 x 7ft. There was a bed in the corner which also looked too small for Randy. It was smaller than a twin. There was a dresser with Randy's other clothes inside.

_Nothing more, nothing less,_ Randy thought.

Randy was claustrophobic and knew this place would just make the voices in his head get louder.

The nurses left silently and soon Randy was alone. It began to rain, and Randy bit his lip, looking around. He sat on the bed, which squeaked loudly. He pulled the thin blanket over his waist and leaned against the wall, looking out the window at the raindrops.

"_The window's crying,_" They whispered.

Randy frowned slightly and stared at the raindrops, putting his hand on the glass. It was cold. And Randy just realized that there was no heat in this room. He looked at all the rain drops. He watched how some split apart and created new ones. And how some raced down the glass, only to become tangled with another, so that they became forever one. Until they split apart again.

And then, Randy thought of raindrops like love. Something Randy had wanted, but never got.

"_Love._" The voices scoffed. "_You're pathetic. Who would love you?_"

Randy let his hand fall from the window and into his lap. He clenched his jaw and laid down, pulling up his knees and curling up since he was too tall for the bed. The blanket did nothing to keep him warm but nonetheless, he pulled it tight around his shoulders.

"_Good night."_

"_Have s__weet dreams._"

"_We know we will._"

The voices quieted for the night, but Randy didn't sleep. He listened to the rain pelt against the window, and wished for a release that would never come. Being _okay _would never, ever come.

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><p><strong>Ohh, what a sad first chapter. I'm not sure if this is my best but I definitely tried, haha. Like I said, this fic is gonna be sorta creepy and it will get twisted. Prepare for some crazy shit- no pun intended. LOL.<strong>

**Font in italics that are dialogue are the voices in Randy's head, btw. Or Johnny's.**

**Any questions, PM me, or...**

**REVIIIEWWW! Or you'll never get to meet our crazy Johnny. c;**


	2. Control Yourself

**Heeere it is. Gracias for the reviews and constructive criticism. Im sorry it's short u_u If you have tips on how to make it longer, please tell me. And I'm not spacing shit out, cuz that's cheating! :3**

**Okay, now read on.**

**Enjoy my loves!**

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><p>John Hennigan. He was one of those patients that would be here until the end.<p>

The end of a time. Of his time. Of some other sort of time. All that John knew was that he was alone, here, with nothing to do but listen to unreal sounds. To feel the pain of needles jabbed into his veins as an attempted cure. And to watch shadows that sane eyes didn't see.

John thought about that.

"Sane eyes," He scoffed to himself quietly, one of his hands shuffling a deck of cards with talent.

If the nurses' eyes were sane, and the patients' eyes were insane, what did that make John's eyes?

John could certainly pass off as a sane person. He looked pretty clean cut. His hair was long, dark, and silky. His body was toned, a bit petite, though slightly underweight. John's body was scarred but he did not look like most of the patients here. Their hair was grey and thin. They looked like animals.

Of course, John's looks deceived him. He was just as unstable, in pain, and far from _okay._

John rolled his neck, his hands still shuffling the cards. He watched as they made a perfect bridge, except the joker, which had fallen out. John frowned and quickly snatched the joker and slid it back into the deck, as if paranoid that it would leave. He glanced around the room he was in. No one was looking at him. It was the common room. Most of the patients came here, to maybe socialize a bit. There were chess tables. There were books. Pretty generic items to normal people. But John no longer liked to read, for fear that he would get too sucked into the story, and that was scary for him. And he hated playing chess or checkers. John cracked under pressure.

So he usually sat alone, maybe occasionally playing cards with another patient. Because cards were the only thing he remembered before he cracked, and was sent here. To be quite honest, John would have preferred the needle as punishment. Why? Simple. He's been here too long. Much too long.

He had maybe two friends here. Mike and Shawn. Shawn was going to be released very soon, having made much progress. He was one of very few here that would get to live the rest of his life in happiness. Shawn had snapped a long time ago, and had lost his mind. Finally, he got it back, unlike most patients. He always told John that he would someday get released, and when he did, Shawn would be waiting to take him home. As for Mike... well he was much better than John, but he had a while to go.

But John knew he wouldn't get released. And when Shawn left, he'd never see him again. It saddened John. It'd be just him and Mike, that is, if Mike made it through. But Mike was usually optimistic. John was confident that Mike would get released in a couple years, to live his life. He assured Mike of that.

One could say that John had come a long way since he came here. But in reality, John's spirit had just been killed. John felt no progress. None at all.

John looked up and saw his counselor, Constantine, staring at him as he talked with a nurse.

"Go away." He muttered quietly, wishing the man could hear him.

John averted his eyes, feeling much smaller than he did before. But he looked back up when he heard the doors open, always attuned to the noises in this place. And there were certainly many sounds. Blackcliffe was on a small island next to Washington state. One way off and one way on, which was an old ferry that came only twice a month to deliver supplies and new patients. It was on a strict schedule, and the hospital made sure it came as little as possible. Couldn't have a patient escape, now could they? The hospital could certainly make one even more paranoid than before they came here.

John watched as the doors opened. His hands let go of the cards, making them sprawl all over the table. John sat up straight and watched as a beautiful creature walked through the doors. The man's body was confident but his ice blue eyes were sad. John cocked his head to the side as he watched him.

When Randy entered the room, he felt eyes on him. And when he looked around, he saw a set of intriguing green eyes on him. They looked at each other, each thinking the same thing:

_Is he real?_

_Is he a hallucination?_

_Is he scared?_

John scooped up his cards, his eyes leaving Randy's. The other man frowned when John looked away. But he said nothing. Randy didn't like speaking.

Constantine smiled at Randy. He was shorter than Randy, but taller than John, his teeth were bleached white, and his body looked like it had fed gluttonously, unlike his patients. He looked sleazy, despite his success rate with his patients. But only his patients knew his true intentions.

"Welcome to Blackcliffe, Randy. I'd give you the list of rules, but you'll figure them out fairly quickly," He said calmly, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a smirk.

Randy didn't say anything, his arms wrapped around himself. He didn't like listening to Constantine. His voice sounded slick and greasy. His words cut into Randy's ears like scissors before they flowed out, as if they never existed. Constantine led Randy over to the table that John was sitting at. He smiled down at the smaller man.

"John, it's good to see you this morning," Constantine said, winking at him.

John looked down at the cards he was shuffling, not looking up at Constantine or Randy. "Likewise," He mumbled.

"This is Randy. He's a new patient, and since you need to socialize more, I figured you could tell him about this hospital. As well as how much progress you made here." Constantine said, his hand on the back of John's neck, squeezing a bit.

Randy looked at them. He wasn't one for socializing. And John could see it.

"Must I?" John asked. No one really talked to John, other than Mike and Shawn. He kept to himself usually, wondering when his release would come. He sat in his room, listing to the dripping of the water pipe, which drove him to the point of tears, and scratching the walls with his bloody finger tips. And when he wouldn't stop screaming, the guards came into his room and forced him to. But when he finally fell asleep, he was awoken early, for shock therapy. Or maybe a meeting with Constantine, where John closed up even more, sometimes refusing to talk to the man.

That's how John spent his time here. Alone, and not _okay._

"Yes. You must. It could help you." He said, squeezing John's neck even more, making him wince.

"F-Fine." He hissed quietly and scooted away from Constantine, who winked at Randy before leaving.

Randy slowly sat down at the table, across from John. Randy realized how gorgeous John was. But he was afraid of that... attraction. He feared the immediate sexual attraction that a normal man had to someone beautiful. Because he was afraid that John wasn't real. And that he was simply hallucinating the man before him. But for now, he'd go along with it.

_"Until you return to reality," _A voice whispered.

John looked up, smiling slightly at Randy. "How'd you get here?" He asked quietly, the only sounds in the room were quiet murmurs, and the shuffling of the cards.

Randy didn't speak, and simply looked at John.

"Ah, I see. You're not a talker," He said, looking down at the table. "That'll change. Trust me." He whispered, his eyes looking up to pierce Randy's.

Randy frowned slightly, confused.

John suddenly chuckled softly. "Don't worry. At first, it only hurts a little." He said, flipping an Ace in his hand. "Don't let the sweet nurses and seemingly _caring _doctors deceive you. They'll make you talk. They'll make you scream. And I hope you don't end up like me." He whispered, slamming the deck of cards on the table, making Randy jump.

He watched John's hands shake before the long haired brunette put them in his lap. John shifted and fidgeted, his nails figging into the table until they almost bled. He swayed, his vision doubling for a second as shadows passing through his line of vision. Then, he calmed. As if it never happened.

"Sorry," John said softly, smiling slightly. "I get a little carried away," He chuckled, running a trembling hand through his hair.

Randy nodded a bit, understanding. He opened his mouth to speak but then closed it, changing his mind. He wanted to ask John why he was in here, but he was afraid to set him off. He was also knew that this place housed the craziest of the crazy, and that John, though he seemed like some sort of angel, had done something dark. Randy didn't know if he wanted to find out.

Both men looked over when a patient flipped over a table, attacking another patient. The two men brawled, screaming nothings until two guards pulled them apart and out of the room. John looked back at Randy.

"Don't worry. Ward 2 is worse. That houses the girls. This is Ward 1, all men. And Ward 3..." John trailed off. "Just control yourself, and you won't end up there. Death is better than that place. _This _Ward is better than that place." He finished quietly.

Randy looked down at his lap, John's words sinking in. Death was a common concept in Randy's mind. A place worst than death would certainly break Randy, _again. _

John looked over his shoulder and saw the nurses walking towards him to take him back to his room. He looked back at Randy. "That's my advice to you. Control yourself. And please don't end up like me." He whispered, standing up. "You have everything they don't. Just please don't end up like me..." He pleaded quietly to Randy as the nurses lightly pulled John away.

Randy wanted to call after him, and ask him what he meant. He didn't know what he had that "they" didn't. He didn't know what John meant when he said to not end up like him. But he understood one thing. John said to control himself. What an impossible task. Randy too strong of a will to fight. How do you control something so unstable?

You didn't. When a fire gets out of control, you put it out with water. You kill it. You make sure it is no longer there. And suddenly, Randy understood why John said that. If he didn't control himself, they'd put him out with a river. The ones who were supposed to fix him would drown him, until there was nothing left. Until the voices choked on water. Until the fluids filled his lungs, and they let go of their last breaths. Until Randy could no longer fight, or feel.

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><p><strong>Oooooh, shit's getting interesting finally. XD I hope I'm not moving too fast. There's no romantic connection between them so far. There's only the sexual attraction that Randy feels and fears. And John feels nothing sexual or romantic thus far. Just curiosity. But he will feel more eventually, don't worry. <strong>I was going to use a canon character for the place of Constantine, but no one fit the bill. I don't have a definite face yet, so just picture him fat, sleazy, controlling, and cold. <strong>Now review. My chapters come out better when I have more reviews! ^^**

**Any questions, comments, lovable affection, opinions or constructive criticism, leave them in a REVIIIEWWW!**


	3. Randy's Lips

**Heeeere it is! Finally. Sorry it took a while lol. I don't why, but I got sad throughout this chapter... No, not sad. Anxious. Anxious for John I guess. You'll see hehe. Also, pay attention to the dates. The time period is key in this story**.

**Enjoy my loves!**

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><p>It felt heavy outside. It was noon but the clouds were dark.<p>

"It's sad outside." John murmured to himself. And to the shadow sitting next to him. A cigarette burned between his lips. Of course there were cigarettes at a lunatic asylum. If there weren't, the patients would just be even more unrulier.

John looked down at the shackles on his ankles. They were there as a precaution. On John's first day here, he had bolted. The guards couldn't keep up, for John was exceptionally fast. They had to shoot him with a tranquilizer. He could walk in them, but he couldn't run.

He held the burning stick between his lips and inhaled. He held in the hit before slowly releasing the smoke through his mouth. He twitched a little as a soft breathe of cold air hit his fragile body. He wrapped his arms around himself. John hated cold weather. He was from LA. He was used to warmth. The beaches. The sun. He missed it terribly.

John looked up and saw Constantine across the yard. His lip twitched and he looked away from the greasy man. Constantine always looked at John with lust and bad intentions. John's disgusted thoughts were disrupted as he noticed _him. _That gorgeous man, watching him.

_What a beautiful human. _John whispered in his thoughts.

"Randy." He murmured to himself, just to feel his name on his dry tongue. It felt lovely.

Randy noticed John as well.

"_You're pathetic for staring._" The voices scolded. Randy rubbed his temples and looked away from John.

"_Staring's rude. Didn't Mommy and Daddy teach you that?_" They chuckled. Randy's lip twitched at the mention of his parents.

"_What's the matt-_" They were cut off by a lovely sound.

"Randy." It breathed.

Randy jumped a little and looked up, realizing that lovely sound was John's voice. He must have walked over while Randy was internally fighting with himself. Randy didn't say anything. Mostly because he didn't know what to say to John. He tried to form words and make sense of them. But every time he did, his mind just scrambled them up again. As if making sure he couldn't speak to the man before him, or speak at all for that matter.

"May I sit?" John asked, gesturing the spot next to Randy on the bench.

Randy nodded, thankful for the "yes or no" question.

John sat, and his pale eyes scanned Randy's arms, trying to decipher the tattoos. "You're cold." John whispered and without thinking, his brushed the back of his hand over Randy's forearm, feeling the goosebumps.

Randy stiffened and pulled his arm away, shivering.

John chuckled quietly. "Don't worry. These hands won't hurt you." He promised in a whisper.

He licked his dry lips and tore his eyes away from Randy, looking at other patients. Pale skinned, shaky and bony. It was like looking into a Concentration camp. Of course, the current year was 1954, so the memories of those places were still fresh in his mind. John himself had never been trapped in one. But he has seen one up close. It made his stomach twist.

John pushed away those thoughts before he snapped. He looked at Randy. "Do you remember a time when you were... _okay_?" He asked suddenly.

Randy looked up. By okay, he knew John meant "sane". He nodded. He did remember thinking like a normal human being. He remembered smiling. He remembered feelings, touches, and reality. He remembered his childhood- the good parts and the bad.

The longhaired brunette brightened slightly. "When you decide to talk, you should tell me about it." He whispered. He barely remembered being okay. He remembered things that happened but it was hard for him to recall a time where he felt truly happy. It was as if John was too far gone. No matter how well he seemed.

John smiled at him warmly. Randy wanted to smile back. To try and seem normal. Maybe it would brighten the light that John seemed to have. But he couldn't. John reached over again and brushed his thumb over Randy's bottom lip. Randy didn't move, and did not pull away. He didn't want to. His head fell quiet.

_Silence._

What bliss.

John abruptly pulled away when Constantine gestured for him to come forward. He looked at Randy.

"I'll see you soon." He said, smiling shakily and stood up. He looked down at Randy, and Randy looked up at him.

The next motion seemed to happen in slow motion. A patient, one John did not know, violently pushed passed the petite brunette. John hissed in pain and looked at the man. The man glared back at him. Before the strung out, nameless patient could say another word, Randy lunged at him.

He snarled, much like an animal, and threw his fists at the man. John stood, shocked as he watched what happened. He watched as Randy unraveled and snapped on this man. All he had done was bump into John. But he now understood what went on inside of Randy. What stirred his emotions.

"_He had no right._" The voiced hissed to Randy.

"_He touched your little obsession._" They growled.

"_Make him suffer. You love his pain._"

And Randy did. He loved the pain of others. He reveled in it. Especially if he had a good reason. Randy wasn't really angry. He was just doing what those in his head told him to do. He was doing what felt _right._

John was pulled away from the scene by Constantine as the security guards pulled Randy and the other patient away from each other. Randy looked like a wild animal unleashed, filled with hate. And maybe a hint of.. protectiveness? John continued to watch until he was pulled into the Ward. Constantine and a guard led him to the usual room where Constantine's private therapy sessions where held.

Constantine ushered John inside the room with a smile, the door closing behind them. It was locked from the outside. The guard would only open it if Constantine said so, so no patient could escape.

John sat in the leather chair, the shackles on his ankles having been removed by the guard. He pulled his knees to his chest, looking at the floor.

"Johnny boy. I see you've taken a liking to the newbie, Randy. That's good." Constantine said, sitting across from John, eyeing the smaller man. "You need to be more social."

"No one is social here." John snapped suddenly.

"Whoa there John. Calm down. There's no need to be angry." Constantine said slowly, and condescendingly. "You've made so much progress. I don't want to see that go to waste because you're attracted to a patient." He said lowly. "_I know how you can be_." He said his last sentence with emphasis.

John wanted to spit on the man. Or cry. Constantine usually made it sound like he was a slut. Like he always was attracted to someone here. And he wasn't. You'd think the man would realize that. John's been here for 8 years, after all. His lip started to quiver. He wanted to leave.

"Oh John, always so sensitive." Constantine sighed. "Have you seen any shadows lately?" He asked, trying to change the subject. He loathed John's tears. But in a way, he loved them. And John knew it. John knew that putting him down gave his therapist a sense of superiority. Like a bully in the school yard.

John nodded to answer Constantine's question.

"I'll have the nurse bring you your pills before you go to bed then." He said, having not given John any meds in a while.

"Look at me." He said forcefully.

John looked at Constantine.

"What Randy did was your fault. You just _had _to get close with him. He's impulsive and animalistic-"

"You're wrong." John cut him off quietly.

Constantine raised a brow. "Excuse me?"

"You're wrong." He murmured again. "He's not an animal. He's scared." He whispered, trying to defend Randy. He didn't even know Randy well. He didn't know his story. He didn't know all of his triggers. His problems. His preferences; sexual or personal. Or even his last name. But John didn't care. He knew for a fact that though Randy had a silent, tough exterior, that the man was afraid. In this place, everyone was.

"Shut up." Constantine hissed. "I've spent years trying to get you're head to where it is today. And you're not even close to to recovery. You're mind will _never _be normal, because you can never just do what someone tells you." He stood up, pacing around John. "If you'd just listen to me, and stop caring so much about the other patients, maybe you'd be slightly _okay._" He growled.

John shrank in his seat, shaking. His heart beat painfully. And his head ached.

"Now, stop being such a whore and stop attatching yourself to that patient. Understood?" Constantine hissed._  
><em>

John didn't answer.

"Say yes or I swear on all that is holy that I will send you straight to electroshock therapy right now." He growled.

"Y-Yes, yes." John said shakily.

"Good." Constantine said and patted John's cheek. "Such a good boy. Maybe there is hope for you." He lied.

And John heard the lies in the man voice. Sometimes, he tried to hope for release. But something always held him back. A breakdown. He snapped. He just... couldn't get his mind straight. He could stay pretty normal at times but it never lasted. Especially at night, when he was alone in his room. The silence became so loud, he'd bang his head against the wall. The silence hurt. The loneliness ached.

John was taken back to his room. He didn't fight. He was quiet. His room was a little worse than Randy's, as it was on the floor below. The walls were concrete. It was cold, and sometimes damp. There was carpet but it was stained and rough. The door was made of steal. There were bloody scratch marks on both the walls and the door, having scratched and banged into them in his desperate attempt to hear angels.

The lonely brunette laid in his bed alone, and stared at the door. He waited for his next bathroom break, or food break. John hated the timed schedules. The light slowly faded from the room, and his pupils were wide and dilated. He flinched as he heard the pitter patter of spider legs scamper across the floor. Or maybe it was something else.

Spiders were too quiet, right?

So it must be something else. Another creature to reside with him for the night. John heard screams from down the hall. They screamed nothings.

"Nothing..." John hissed. "It's nothing."

He sat up. This would not be an easy night. A shiver ran up his spine as he heard a voice whisper in his ear.

"_Sweet kleinchen__, it will hurt just a tad."__  
><em>

John pressed himself into a corner, clutching the thin blanket tight to him. The words repeated themselves over and over in his head. He hissed as he heard it again, right in his ear.

"_Sweet kleinchen..."_

He clenched his eyes tight. He tried to make it go away. He scratched at his wrists before a thought floated into his mind. It was so light, so smooth. He thought of Randy's lip. Why? Why did that come into his mind? He frowned, slowly opening his eyes into the dark. He touched Randy's bottom lip. John remembered it clearly. He closed his eyes again and began to guiltily think of Randy's lips again. They were so sad. So pouty. So pleading. They wanted to smile but they couldn't.

Randy's lips.

That was John needed, and all he honestly wanted. He wanted to see Randy's lips smile. He wanted to see them swollen from John's lips. That was an unrealistic possibility.

How silly.

To kiss Randy? The man was so unstable. So gone. So scared. So skittish. So unaware. John felt lucky that his hand got as far as it did. He smiled a little, and looked down at his hand. He slowly laid down, curling up. He closed his eyes, his fingers still warm from Randy's lips. He drifted off into a semi-peaceful sleep, unaware of the screams that currently fell from the lips he was so infatuated with.

* * *

><p><strong>Oooh well that was intense. But I kinda liked this chapter.<strong>

**"Kleinchen" is German for "Little Child" **

**This IS right after WW2 so that will play a part in John's history. So again, pay attention to the dates. Hope you enjoyed! I love feedback! c:**


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